


What We Became

by alarminghella, darklordtomarry (alarminghella)



Series: The Divine Right of Kings [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Political Intrigue, Politics, Sequel, Slytherin Harry Potter, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alarminghella/pseuds/alarminghella, https://archiveofourown.org/users/alarminghella/pseuds/darklordtomarry
Summary: Questionable decisions. Mutable futures. Emerging plans.Foes, both known and unknown, lurk on all sides, forcing Tom and Harry to be more cautious than ever.The Triumvirate watches as they hold a piece of Tom hostage.What Tom and Harry are doing is for the greater good. And that's the only thing that matters, isn't it?Follow up to What We Are.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: The Divine Right of Kings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/637673
Comments: 47
Kudos: 308





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my beta eris  
> she makes me better at writing. she is my rock. my boo. my person who tells me that i do naughty things to commas.  
> i also love my nani boo who still sometimes gets me shouting at her late into the night about ideas I have for this story.  
> whatever happens I know that both of them will shame me for taking a long time to write... but then again i will also shame nani for abandoning her hg au for fire emblem.  
> Can we get an F in chat for all abandoned fics? (y'all thought wwa was abandoned didn't ya? it's okay so did I, but it turns out theres this seasonal depression thing???? lollll i can write again it's amazing.)

The days blended together. Many of them were spent at St. Mungo’s holding Hermione’s hand and making idle, repetitive chatter; other days were just classes and going through the motions. He worked with Tom, he begged him to help Hermione, he begged the painting to do the same. Both said that there was likely nothing that could be done. 

Tom promised that Hermione had already been looked at by the best of mind-healers. He also promised that no one would know that Harry was involved, that the healers that had diagnosed her had erased any evidence of the spell damage. That they were firmly in Tom’s pocket. 

He cried more than a few times during those early days.

Tom was too busy to notice Harry’s tears. Preparing for his coronation, taking control of the government, installing his people, taking over the Prophet, and so many little things that Harry had almost no idea about. Even the painting could not be bothered to keep Harry updated. 

It didn’t stop them from visiting each other. Being intimate and plotting towards their own goals. 

Utilizing Snape, they anonymously revealed a scandal that made most people forget about Hermione’s accident. Didn’t stop most of the school from looking at him wrong, but at least the public consciousness had moved on to something else. 

The lack of whispers didn’t stop him from staring in the mirror each day, fighting down the urge to smash his face into it.

Harry went through the motions for months. The next thing he knew he had stepped off the stage, having accepted his honours from McGonagall and waved to his mum and dad. 

They sat side-by-side in the audience looking happy as they could be. Lily’s smile was bright as the night was dark, reaching her eyes for once and making her crow’s feet crinkle. 

James wore a happy smile that was just lip, no teeth. It reached his eyes, but it was still guarded. Everything was guarded between all of them as of late. 

For almost a year now. It would soon be a year. Solstice. So much had happened. 

Harry sat back down and watched as the rest of the graduates of note received their awards, their recognition for outstanding deeds. There weren’t too many left after Potter. 

Blaise got the highest grade in Arithmancy. 

The crowd surged around Harry. Throngs of bodies and their oppressive heat pressed against him. They bumped and jostled him around like he was a pinball. Fellow students passed him by as they headed to congratulate their friends, their housemates. To wish them well and say how much they would miss them. 

The other Slytherins had said as much and then left him to his own machinations. His mother was talking to the other teachers and students. His father was off in the distance, the June sun glinting off his glasses, lighting him up as a beacon for Harry to avoid. 

The summer heat was suffocating. The people around him were suffocating. 

Tom had been unable to attend, and without the only person he could trust, all Harry sought now was the relaxing embrace of being alone. 

Harry slipped into the hallways of what had been his home for the past seven years. Hogwarts was a place where he had truly come into his own. Had made his little side business, had made his friends. It was where he had learned everything about being a wizard and everything about the bonds of  _ family. _

His fingers glided along the once roughly hewn stone of the walls that had been made smooth through centuries of students touching these walls, be it travelling between classes, sneaking out for a midnight snog or saying goodbye. 

Harry knew that he would be back. There was no doubt about that; his mother worked here and soon Remus as well. 

But he would never be back as a student. It would never be his home again. 

Harry made his way down to the Slytherin dormitory. The wall was open, revealing the common room to the world. The rays of sun shone through the lake, bathing the room in flashes of refracted light. 

The notice board was empty, the tables clear of papers and books. 

Barren. 

The graduation ceremony was held after Hogwarts had adjourned for the year and they had all left on the train. Harry had decided against apparating home with his luggage. Not out of nostalgia for the multi-hour train ride but merely to appease his father who seemingly ached to ride the train. 

He also had a minor suspicion that his father might apparate onto the train and inspect Harry’s luggage for dark artifacts. 

The painting had insisted on discretion so much that it had made Harry actually paranoid. 

Harry entered his dorm room and went to his former bed. The house elves had been vigilant and thorough, but as the painting had taught, there was magic that house elves could not detect. 

He tapped his wand against the back left leg of his bed frame, revealing a secret compartment that contained the Chocolate Frog card of Tom. 

“Ready?” it asked. 

Harry nodded and made his way back upstairs. 

A few more people had filtered into the school from the ceremony. They paid him no mind. 

No one noticed at all when he ducked into the girls bathroom under his invisibility cloak, no one saw a chocolate frog card hiss at a pipe, no one saw him slide down the pipe that appeared from where the sink had been, no one saw the sink return to its original shape. 

No one noticed Harry was gone at all, and he was okay with that. He wanted to blend into the background. 

He wanted to _ continue _ to blend into the background. It was better than being noticed.

Harry cleaned his robes from the trip down the pipe and then covered his mouth and nose as he traversed the Chamber to the hidden library. It smelled like death and mold. 

Harry and Tom (and the painting) had agreed that it would be better to wait on moving anything from here until Harry wasn’t officially under the watchful eyes of his parents or Hogwarts. He was now a private citizen and was not beholden to the rules of the school. It would take a legal order for him to reveal anything now that no one was his guardian. 

He gathered up the books that Tom had left behind some fifty years ago and stuffed them in his magically expanded pockets. 

Hermione had failed to take some of the books and notations that revealed Tom’s true identity, the ones that she did take Harry had already destroyed. Tom had admitted that he had been sloppy by leaving what he did in the Chamber. 

The foolish arrogance of youth just seemed to be that way. Sloppy and uncaring arrogance led to mistakes that would bite you in the ass. 

The painting had been drilling the fact that Harry was a young idiot so far into his head that he had been waking up with nosebleeds to go along with the headaches. He was waiting for a hole to appear in his brain one morning. 

The painting never seemed to allow Tom’s mistakes to apply to  _ him. _ Like he and Tom were two separate people. 

Maybe that was something else to do with age. 

With barely a glance at the room, he turned on his heel and strode out of the Chamber and used a broom that had been stuffed into his pocket to exit the pipe. 

Harry stood at the opening as it began to close and returned the broom to his expanded pocket when he realized that a stall door had opened and he was being stared at. 

He made eye contact with Ginerva Weasley.

Harry cocked his head to the side, and looked past her, brushing off his robes again. “Are you here for Ronald’s graduation?” He palmed his wand. 

Ginny nodded slowly and moved her head to gesture with her chin. “What was that?”

Harry looked back as it reformed the regular sink configuration. “The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It’s funny, but people seemed to have forgotten about it with all the scandals that have happened recently. It’s not like there’s anything important in it.”

“Why were you in there?” Ginny was slowly sidling towards the door. 

Harry flicked the wand in his sleeve. The door bolted shut and a silencing charm fell over the room. The air was thick with unspoken tension.

Ginny whipped her wand out and pointed it dead at his chest. Her brown eyes blazed with unrestrained dislike. “Hermione found it didn’t she?”

Harry tutted. “Ginerva, you seem to be reaching for a reason to be suspicious. You see, what happened…” He dropped his voice low and whispered quietly.

So quietly that she unconsciously leaned in to hear. 

Harry pulled his wand fully out and with a nearly silent declaration said, “ _ Obliviate!” _

The fire faded from Ginerva’s eyes and they grew dull and complacent. She wavered in place for a second as Harry removed the last few minutes from her memory.

He left the bathroom and could vaguely hear the faucet turn on and Ginerva wash her hands as if nothing untoward had happened. 

Another successful obliviation. 

Harry looped up through a few secret passage ways to take a roundabout way to the Great Hall. The majority of the guests were now inside and Harry went up to his parents, Sirius, and Lupin. 

“Sorry about wandering off.” Harry looked up at the ceiling. It showed the bright sun and sparse clouds but without the scorching heat. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sirius pulled Harry into a one-armed hug. “Nah, you don’t have to say goodbye to the old girl. You just come and visit me or your mom for dinner. I’ll sneak you in anytime.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t have any doubts about that.” He gave Sirius a lopsided smile. “You should come visit my new apartment. I think you’ll like it. Good view.”

Sirius’ smile wavered a slight bit before coming back in full force. “I think I’d like that. You can invite us all to a fancy dinner party.”

“Maybe a wine and cheese party? Oh, wait, a better idea... mulled wine on the patio. I could get a nice, big cauldron going and I promise I won’t add too much cinnamon this time.”

Lily cocked her head to the side. “This time?”

Harry gave her an unashamed smile. “Only a small attempt once. Very recently. Well within the legal age. I would never break any drinking laws.”

Lily shook her head and pulled him from Sirius and into her own hug, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You’re a terrible liar.”

He gave her a small hug back and pulled away. “I know.” 

“I hope you also know that you can come home anytime you want to.” She squeezed his arms. “We haven’t touched your room.”

“I know. I know. Thank you.” Harry gave her another hug before pulling away. “I think I might bounce back to my flat. It’s been a long day.” Harry hugged Remus and his father before heading out. He vaguely heard his father and Remus asking where he was headed but he was already out the door.

Harry stepped through the gates and apparated to his flat. 

It was a nice flat. Tom had arranged it for him a few months ago. It was a penthouse apartment, two stories, rooftop patio, pre-furnished with everything Harry could need. 

Large bed. Soundproof bedroom. 

It had been very thoughtful.

Or so he thought, until one of the  _ esteemed _ and  _ purer blooded _ members that worked within Lansdowne Palace informed Harry that his flat had long been a place for members of the royal family, and later the government, to store their  _ lower class _ partners. Ones that could not be seen with their lover in the light of day. 

That had slightly soured his opinion of the apartment.

It was still nice though. Close to Tom. Safe. Middle of London. He could come and go as he pleased. 

He really was a kept man now. 

Harry went to the dining room table and began to unload his pockets. The books he would return to Tom, his broom would go back in its case, and the frog card would get put somewhere he could spy on Harry’s life. 

His fingers brushed across parchment that was deeper in his pocket, and slowly, _ painfully,  _ he pulled them out. 

McGonagall had presented these to him during the ceremony. His accolades. 

Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, and History of Magic. He had scored the highest NEWT grades for those classes. 

...He had been the only student to do the History of Magic NEWT. 

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to see the empty room. It hadn’t been worth using the Great Hall for. The proctor had just done it in Binn’s classroom. Had said they hadn’t expected to have to do one of these NEWT’s. That it had been nearly a decade. The proctor had asked where the second student was. 

No one had told him that Hermione wouldn’t be there. 

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He called upon his occlumency teachings and shoved the thoughts of Hermione away, into a box, shoved that box into a corner, walked out of that room, up a mental staircase and out of the basement where all his upsetting thoughts had begun to live. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. 

“What for?”

Harry spun around, his wand drawn for a moment before lowering it. Snape was sitting in a wingback chair, flipping through a copy of  _ The New Daily Prophet _ . “I told you to knock.” He pocketed the Chocolate Frog card. 

“I was here first.” Snape turned a page, the rustle echoing through the room. 

“And breaking into my flat is acceptable now?”

“Consider it a security test. You didn’t even check for spells, much less a man who is not even concealed, sitting out in the open.”

Harry sniffed. “Pretending to be the DADA professor to punish me for McGonagall rescinding the job offer? That’s not very fair.”

“You need to be more vigilant. Especially with the position we are currently in.” Snape put the paper down. “I require another.”

Harry stared at him for a moment before opening a wall safe and extracting a tied up stack of letters. Their parchment was old and stained from sitting in an uninsulated attic for decades. “The Prophet asking for more?”

“Always. I’ve been informed by the board that the sales double each time ‘anonymous’ releases a new exchange between Grindelwald and Dumbledore.”

Harry pulled two off the top of the stack and passed them to Snape. “And how is Crocker doing?”

“Milking Bathilda Bagshot for information to corroborate these letters. I’ve heard from the editor that there is a manuscript in the line. An expose on Dumbledore’s life.”

“I’ll want to see it before it goes to print.”

“As will his highness. I imagine there will be a whole line of people ready to tear it apart and ensure no “lies” are printed.”

Harry snorted. “Yes. Especially since the foundation of our government is built on honesty and integrity. His Majesty would  _ never _ lie.”

Snape scanned over the pages that Harry had handed him before tucking them into his robe. His face twitched as he looked at the table where Harry’s school papers lay. Harry could see the indecision of… something in Snape, but Harry had learned his lesson on trying occlumency on him. It had ended with him flat on his ass with a migraine. 

Harry sighed. “Out with it. Don’t say it’s not your place. Hit me with your brutal honesty. I know you want to.”

Snape gave him a dour look. “I won’t tell you that you need to move on from what happened to Granger.”

Harry felt his hackles raise. 

“But I will say that if you’re so determined to forget it, obliviate yourself instead of giving yourself brain damage via alcohol.”

Harry ignored the part of his mind that went to the bin in the kitchen that had more than a few bottles in it. “I will have you know that I have merely been sampling the wines they have on offer here. The selection is staggering.”

“...Of course.”

Harry wondered if his mum had asked Snape to check in on him. It wasn’t like the man particularly cared if Harry drank himself silly. He could just grow a new liver if he needed to. 

This line he walked on. The one between his family and his desire for justice, for doing what was right, even though the methods were wrong. His decisions for the greater good… would they tip him closer to being the bastard he thought he was? That bloody line was so thin he could barely see it at this point, but morality was not black and white. There were so many distinct shades of grey that it all blended together. 

He didn’t even know if Snape was asking about his drinking habits for Lily, Tom, or his own morbid curiosity. 

If only he could be like Snape, completely unreadable instead of moping around or putting on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Is there anything else you need?”

Snape shook his head and with a loud crack, disapparated.

Harry pointed at the chocolate frog card that sat on the table. “Don’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been sticking through these content droughts and commenting, kudosing, bookmarking on WWA even without me replying back like the damn ghost I am.  
> Every time I got an Ao3 email it reminded me that I need to write this. That I need to finish it, not just for myself but for all of you. You're all pretty special to me. Thanks for being here as I drag Harry down with me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MILLION THANKS TO MY BETA ERI! THANK YOU BOO BEAR!

Harry drew himself upright, stared at the wrought iron gates in front of him, and walked onto the grounds of Augustus Avery’s home. The key in his hand grew cold when he walked past the barrier. Harry pocketed it. 

He had spent the morning clearing his mind, masking his emotions. Underneath all of it, he was nervous. Not because he was afraid of Avery, but because they were going behind Tom’s back to meet with a man he considered his enemy.

The chocolate frog version of Tom had made Harry agree to bring him along, and so he was now taped to Harry’s ankle and covered by a long sock. He had refused to be left in the flat while Harry made this trip. Said it was too important. It wasn’t their best plan, but it was the only one they had. If anything happened, at least the painting could alert Tom. 

Their little house of cards would come tumbling down if  _ that _ happened. 

A house elf popped into being in front of him with a loud crack. “Master Avery is in the gardens.” It walked away, guiding Harry around the side of the house and towards a heavily flowered and well-maintained garden. Avery sat at a white, wrought-iron table in the middle of it all, surrounded by pillars wrapped in climbing roses. 

“Mister Potter,” Avery said and drank from a golden cup. “I’m glad we could finally have this meeting.”

Sitting down across from Avery, Harry glanced into the distant scenery of the Lake District. Of course Avery would live here. 

“I apologize it took this long. Life has been rather hectic.” He turned back to Avery. The man looked good for his age. Clean cut, white hair that complemented his complexion. Harry would even say Avery looked better than the similarly aged, painted version of Tom. Although, Harry imagined it was easy to age gracefully when you had the type of wealth Avery did. 

“So I’ve heard. I was perturbed to hear about Miss Granger’s injury. Shocking how easily a bright mind can be snuffed out like that,” Avery said, snapping his fingers for emphasis. 

Harry bit back a flinch. It didn’t matter if Avery couldn’t see him, he would not react to his bait. 

“It is a pity Miss Granger was a muggleborn,” Avery continued. “There would have been such an outpouring of support at her accident. Cries that we had just lost one of the brightest minds of our time.”

Harry raised his nose in a way that was reminiscent of Draco. He didn’t care for Avery using the past tense regarding Hermione. She wasn’t dead and she could get better one day. 

“I think it would have been preferable if she had been born in a world that did not value blood purity. A world where you didn’t measure a person by how inbred they were, but by their deeds.” 

Avery cocked his head to the side. “An intriguing premise. How would  _ you _ fare in that world? Would you be regarded as you are now amongst your peers? The Potter lineage has been fairly pure up until your parents' marriage. Would you still be able to maintain your connections based on  _ who  _ you are? Or are you only here because of  _ what _ you are, Mister Potter?”

Harry pursed his lips, not liking how this conversation was going. “I am a halfblood Slytherin, I like to think I was able to gain my position through my intellect. I was barely given the time of day until I proved myself to my pureblooded housemates.” 

“You still have your patriarchal legacy to aid you.”

“Are you going anywhere with this?” Harry asked curtly, his temper flaring. 

Avery looked at him with his milky eyes, and Harry was suddenly uncertain if the man was blind at all. “You think yourself the master of your own destiny, and yet you refuse to see the privilege surrounding you, Mister Potter. To see the helping hands that have aided you in your quest to support Thomas.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What are you implying?” he said slowly, enunciating every word, 

Avery took another long drink from his golden cup. “I’m such a rude host. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

He ignored the question and pressed on. “What have you done?”

Avery set the cup down and ran his fingers over its embossed edges for a moment before speaking again. “Thomas has been playing the long game, and sometimes I do not know which side he is truly on, outside of his own. He has always been enigmatic, and with you around, I see _ something  _ else from him. I merely wish to protect you. If anything were to happen to you, I fear we would lose our grip on Thomas and the country.” 

Harry steepled his fingers and watched Avery. “You want to control me to keep him in line?”

“Of course not.” It was said jovially enough, but Harry knew the man was lying. “I wish to keep you safe. It would be unfortunate if something happened to you and Thomas… snapped.”

Avery took a deep breath and closed his eyes, turning his face into the cool wind coming off the lake. “You didn’t know what he was like in his youth. A genius mudblood in Slytherin where no one would acknowledge or respect him. That kind of resentment can last an entire life.”

Harry scoffed. “I know he proved himself to his peers. He was a prefect, a headboy, Slughorn believed Tom could be Minister of Magic. He is on a different level than anyone else.” He paused, thinking of what Avery had said about privilege. “Are you implying he resents me for having a head start?”

“Merlin no,” Avery said, laughing. “He _ loves _ you.”

Harry flushed and turned away, biting his bottom lip. This was slightly awkward now.

“All I suggest is that you play it safer, Mister Potter. The situation with Miss Granger has led to quite a bit of issues.”

Harry’s flushed complexion went ashen in a moment. “Tom and I handled—”

“ _ I  _ handled it,” Avery said, cutting Harry off. “There was much more that happened than you know. Rita Skeeter heard the entire conversation at the Three Broomsticks. We were lucky that Thomas noticed and captured her, but it still took quite a bit of work to bring her over to our side instead of killing her. We were also forced to locate her photographer who observed the whole event under an invisibility cloak. He was quite resilient against a memory charm.  _ He _ is dead.” Avery leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between them. “Then there’s the staff at St. Mungo’s who we had to imperius and obliviate to ensure Miss Granger’s accident was considered that,  _ an accident. _ Your carelessness is racking up a body count, Mister Potter, and I am being forced to clean it up. This doesn’t even include what we had to do about the solicitors Miss Granger hired.”

Harry hadn’t noticed his trembling hands. He attempted to put up any sort of occlumency shield, and he felt his control sliding away as the rug was pulled out from under him. 

“And then there is the situation with your father,” Avery continued. “It would be so much easier to discredit and kill him, but because of Thomas’ fondness for you, I am being forced to improvise.” 

“Do you expect an apology?” Harry snapped. “Killing shouldn’t be your first choice for problem solving.” 

“Too true…” Avery ran his long fingers through his hair and sighed. “I feel we may have drifted away from the reason I invited you here.”

“Indeed,” Harry said, his voice acidic.

“Don’t be like that… I wish for you to be my apprentice. I have no heir, no one to carry on my legacy. On paper, I am merely a moderately wealthy pureblood whose only job has been investing, but you know  _ what I am _ and I know  _ what you can become _ .”

Harry’s breath hitched. He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. Avery knew so much about him, more than he had thought, and Harry knew barely anything of Avery.

“I have already proven I am a king maker, and I wish to shape you into a spymaster. You can be by Thomas’ side and protect him from any outside forces that would do him harm.”

“Why? He has you.” Harry shot the man a long look, which was not returned back for obvious reasons. “Do you plan on dying anytime soon?”

“No one plans to die, and I hope my death is many years from now. However, I prefer to leave no eventualities unaccounted for. We are leading our kind into a brave, new world, and I have no desire for it to go off track.” Avery stood up and turned his head to Harry. “I hope to have an answer by the end of the week.”

He left the garden. Harry sat there, alone and uncertain.

##

Tom twirled one of Harry’s ringlets around his finger, loving the inky darkness against his pale skin. Harry’s hair was spread over his chest, with his head resting over Tom’s heart. 

Harry had come to his office bearing food and a demand that Tom put down his work and eat. They may have done a bit more than eating, given the state the room was now in. 

Harry had been quiet, but assertive. Demanding in his neediness as he had straddled Tom in his chair and fed him a single strawberry. It had devolved into skin on skin and bodily fluids shortly after that. 

Dropping his head back, he moved the curtain minutely, looking out the window. He hadn’t even known what time it was, the sun had clearly gone down ages ago. Tom silently summoned the basket of food Harry had brought, and rifled around inside with his spare hand that wasn’t in Harry’s curls. Sandwiches, pumpkin juice and strawberries. A little picnic.

Pulling out of the sandwiches, he placed one on his abdomen, in front of Harry’s face. “Get some strength before I take you for another ride.”

Harry sat up and looked over his shoulder, a coy grin on his lips. “Again? So soon? I thought someone your age was lucky to do it once a week.”

Tom lightly smacked his arm. “The cheek on you.”

Harry smirked and crawled on top of him, dislodging the sandwich. “That’s not the only thing about me that’s cheeky.” Harry leaned in and kissed him. Tom held him close, running his fingers through Harry’s hair, enjoying the taste and scent of him.

With Harry, he felt more alive than he ever had before.

Tom wasn’t able to say how long they laid there and snogged, but he would say the knock at the door was very unwelcome. 

They broke apart and mutually glared at the door. 

“Who is it?” Harry whispered.

Tom shrugged. “Someone who can fuck off.”

“My Lord?” Barty’s voice came from the other side.

Harry groaned. 

If Barty was here at this time of night, it was probably important. 

Tom pulled his robes over his lap to protect what modesty he had and draped his shirt over Harry’s lap. “Come in,” he said in a sing-song voice. 

Harry spun around and slapped his chest in dismay. 

Tom smiled. 

The door opened, and Barty Crouch openly stared at them for a moment before turning around and locking the door with a heavy click. He smiled like the scoundrel he was.

“What brings you out at this hour?” Tom said, pinning some of Harry’s robes down so the younger man couldn’t cover himself up further. The desperate, little tugs he felt were more than amusing.

Barty licked his lips, staring at them with hunger. “We have identified fifteen candidates for the coronation. We thought it best that you make the final choice soon, so we may begin.” He passed Tom a folder.

Tom opened it and looked at the list of names and their profiles. One of them had graduated with Harry.

Harry leaned over, likely exposing more flesh than he wanted, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Why the hell is Zachariah Smith on a list?”

Maybe it was time to test his analytical skills. “Tell me, do you think Smith might be easily swayed to extremism if prompted? Could he be indoctrinated against me?” 

Harry shrugged. “Smith is a centrist. Likes to talk a lot of shit, but won’t commit to anything. I don’t think he could go hard one way or the other.” Harry squinted as he considered Smith. “He’s more of a coward than anything else.”

Tom shot Barty a look. “Take Smith off.”

Barty nodded. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Harry poked him in the chest. 

“Just a little surprise we have planned.”

“For the coronation?”

“Caught that, hmm?”

“I’m not deaf,” Harry bit out.

“Don’t worry about it… Can you think of anyone who might be… resistant to our cause? The official one, that is.” Tom ran his hand down Harry’s back, hoping it would calm him.

Harry licked his lips, as if he was mentally tallying his schoolmates, which he was. 

Tom watched Barty watch Harry. Barty’s eyes were on the younger man, and he looked starved. Maybe, he had been a bit presumptuous to warn Harry away from Crouch. Barty knew better than to do anything more than look.

“Ronald Weasley, maybe?” Harry uncertainly suggested. “Neville Longbottom, potentially. He’s certainly been more vocal since his father got injured… Are you creating enemies of the monarchy?”

“So quick on the uptake.” Tom passed the files back to Barty. “Add those two to the list of potentials. Take a closer look at Dumbledore’s fan base.”

“As you wish,” Crouch said, bowing and leaving them alone.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

Tom let out a chuckle. I was going to keep it as a surprise to get a genuine reaction from you, but we may be developing a plot where I am attacked during my coronation by some  _ rebels _ . And from there, we will trace it back to the editor at Witch Weekly and take advantage of the situation by passing a few emergency measures while we investigate.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, his jaw dropping.

Tom laughed and stuck his finger in Harry’s mouth. Oh, everything was starting to go right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening! Slowly but surely! Avery hype!


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia gripped James’ chin and lifted his head to the side. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the extent of damage on his neck. “You’re lucky you didn’t die.”

Touching the fresh scar across his throat and collarbone, James was inclined to agree. By all rights, he should have died. He had been laid out by a curse reflecting off a shield charm during the fight. There had been no way to try and heal the wound as it had spurted blood, his wand had been knocked from his hand and he doubted he could even speak if he tried. All James could do at the time was hold the wound as it covered his hands with blood. 

And then Slytherin had spotted him. Bloody prick abandoned his battle by blasting his attacker into a pillar, killing him instantly with a spray of viscera. James had the memory of his vision fading when Slytherin rushed over and did a makeshift healing spell on him to staunch the bleeding. 

The Saint Mungo’s staff had found the countercurse a few hours after he had been admitted, but the delay promised James would receive a shiny new scar. 

The bitter side of James almost wished he had died, just to avoid owing Slytherin a life debt. 

James dropped his head against the pillows, pulling away from Amelia’s grasp. “I know.” He slid his glasses on from the side table. “Care to tell me what happened?”

A flick of Amelia’s wand and they were alone in James’ St. Mungo’s room. “Tell me what happened with you first.”

He nodded. It made sense that she wanted someone who was ignorant to the gossip that had probably already started to form, but James still wanted to know what had happened. Maybe he would be able to recognize something. James sighed. “I apparated to Kensington Palace...”

##

James stepped into the main foyer. The coronation was less than an hour away and the palace crawled with the press and wizarding elite. He knew or, at least, knew of almost everyone present, the only exceptions being the foreign press. 

Rita Skeeter and Bernard Crocker were both present with their own entourages and representing the New Daily Prophet. Each had their own audience which would want both of their opinions. Crocker had become more salacious recently and it seemed like he was stepping into Skeeter’s purview while Rita was going the opposite way and taking a serious tone with her articles. Lot’s of pro-monarchy stuff from her lately. Crocker was behind the publishing of Albus Dumbledore’s private letters with... Gellert Grindelwald. 

James pushed those thoughts aside. He understood that Dumbledore was just a man, a fallible one, but he was still one of James’ heroes. Someone who gave second chances, who let Remus have a semi-normal life, who hired Lily in a world that seemed to hate her kind. He knew better than to have idols at this age, but… it still hurt. 

Shaking his head as if he could clear the cobwebs of disappointment away, James focused on the crowd again. Witch Weekly had only sent one reporter, or they hadn’t been allowed more than one. They weren’t sycophants like the Prophet had become. He imagined the international reporters present were of a pro-monarchy standpoint. 

He weaved his way through the crowd to the staircase. The seats in the balcony area wouldn’t be filled by now and he would have a decent chance to get a good spot. He would be able to take a page out of Harry’s book and switch from eavesdropping spell to eavesdropping spell from such a height. Not that anyone would be discussing anything of importance in a crowded venue such as this. 

...Harry would have been great to have on  _ their _ side. James hadn’t liked it when he had found out but his son was incredible at digging up information of all sorts. He would have made an amazing auror or researcher. 

But no, Slytherin had seduced him to the side of purebloods and bigotry. The house and the man. 

James was in the midst of grabbing the bannister to move upstairs when his robe sleeve was grabbed. He paused and stared at the old man holding onto him. A man with milky white eyes. “Excuse me?”

The man released James’ robe. “Apologies, you have a similar gait to a friend of mine and I thought you were him. I do not mean to burden you with this, but could you help get me to my spot? It appears his Majesty is unable to spare a house elf for a poor blind man.”

James blinked. “Of course. The seats are first come first serve and I was heading up to the balcony. We can find you a spot there--”

“I’m a member of the Sacred 27. I have reserved seating near the front.” The man pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it to James. The name ‘Augustus Avery’ was emblazoned across it in gold script. “In return for your assistance you can sit with me as my guest.”

The name seemed familiar. James opened the envelope and pulled out a card which had where the Avery family was to sit. Second row from the front. 

He didn’t want to offend the man and turn down his offer. His goal had been to be above the action, but to take the man there and then scarper off would be beyond rude. “I would be honored,” James said and linked arms with the man. They made their way through the crowd, some people stepping out of the way when seeing them. 

The security seemed to recognize Avery without the invitation and parted ways without a word. 

“Avery… Avery… I feel like I’ve heard your name before. Outside the context of the Sacred 27, that is.”

Avery’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Perhaps, if you tell me your name I might be able to help you pinpoint it.”

James slapped his hand to his face. He hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m sorry. I’m James Potter.”

Avery raised a brow. “Harry Potter’s father?”

Usually he was recognized for his own name and not his sons. Times were a-changin '. Not that he resented Harry for it, it was just surreal. Kid was barely out of Hogwarts and was known in the upper echelons of society. “The one and only.”

“Ah,” Avery tapped his fingers against James’ forearm. “Perhaps, Harry mentioned that I was the one that assisted him in getting into the gala after Lord Slytherin was elected.”

A piece of crumpled parchment flicked across his mind. A letter Harry had sent him. One that he had been sure his son had sent in an attempt to get back on his good side. Not that it had worked. “...That would be it. I think he asked me what would be an appropriate gift to thank you for your help.”

“Oh? Were you the one who suggested the fine bottle of 1955 Cabernet Sauvignon?”

“That sounds suspiciously like a bottle from my wine cellar that went missing a few months ago. I wish I could say I suggested it, but with the insanity of the last few months, I failed to reply back to him,” James said. 

James guided Avery to his seat and sat next to him. They sat behind Ulysses Nott and his son. Ugh. 

“Shall I send the bottle back?” Avery asked with a raised brow. 

James shook his head and then realized he was an idiot. “No, no. Keep it. It’s not like I ever intended to drink it. Please enjoy it.”

“So thoughtful, it must be where your son gets it from. He’s a nice boy,” Avery said, smiling.

Nott had turned around and glared at James, his lips forming a thin line at Avery. He turned back and crossed his arms with a “harrumph.”

“I have to give all the credit to my wife  _ Lily, _ ” James said, emphasizing her name so Nott could hear. He wondered how Avery would respond to him mentioning his muggleborn wife. Was Avery one of the Sacred 27 with no spine that fell in line with the other purebloods or was he a raging asshole like Lucius Malfoy? 

“A mother's influence is powerful, but a father’s should not be overlooked either.” Avery’s thumb brushed over his cufflinks. James could see small lines on the brass. “This is a rather intimate question and I hope I am not overstepping my bounds, but may I inquire about your feelings about your son being Lord Slytherin’s paramour?”

James’ mouth dropped open at the audacity. “Uh, wow.”

“Ah, sounds like I overstepped. Apologies. It’s not like I can read faces,” Avery said with a chuckle. “The ceremony should be starting soon.” 

James felt the obvious end of the conversation. Crossing his legs, James scoped out the room. Avery was clearly correct as more and more were ushered into the seats. 

If Amelia’s assumption that Slytherin was just a puppet, then sitting amongst the Sacred 27 was the best place to be. It could only be them, or their associates pulling his strings. He reclined back and closed his eyes, his eavesdropping spell changing from group to group. Harry would be proud if he could be proud of his father.

Gossip, gossip, slander, gossip, house elf breeding strategies-- Wait, what? Ew. 

He was briefly jarred from his reverie by the actual start of the ceremony. Lord Slytherin had entered the room and stood to the side as Fudge began to pontificate. Frankly, James wasn’t surprised the Fudge had switched to pro-monarchy. The man had a backbone with the structural integrity of a wet noodle. 

James zoned out while Fudge spoke. The whispers in the room had grown silent except for a few of the younger crowds mocking Fudge, which, frankly, was a general mood and he would probably be doing the same if he and Sirius were sitting next to each other. 

He didn’t see Sirius in the section with the Sacred 27, but he did see Harry. He sat between Regulus, and Crouch’s son. He must be Regulus’ guest. It’s not like there was an official spot for the king’s… something. 

He ignored the seat next to the throne. 

Harry was looking at him. James didn’t know how long he had been watching him. His son looked… confused. James almost wondered why until he remembered where he was sat and with whom. Ulysses Nott sat in front of him with his son Theo. In essence, he was sitting in the middle of the lion's den.

Pity the lions weren’t talking. Just one lion whispering to the other about how they were going to make Lord Slytherin do something devious was all he needed. Just a hint of something nefarious to give him a trail to follow. 

James tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling arches. He wasn’t going to get any information for Amelia here. The only answers would be in some shady back rooms with a very limited set of people. The only way he had an into that kind of world was Sirius and Sirius was as welcome there as a muggleborn. Regulus would have been an entry point, but he had seemingly been swayed over. Damn it. 

His thoughts buzzed around blankly to the point he missed the crowning of Slytherin, and the first step of wizarding Britain from democracy to fascism. Okay, maybe he zoned out on purpose so he didn’t have to see it. 

James was perhaps a little too zoned out, he wasn’t able to initially parse that the screams weren’t cheers. It was very clear they were not cheers when flashes of red and green began to sly fly over and  _ through _ the crowd. 

“Get down!” James said and pushed Avery down to the floor. 

“What’s happening?” Avery pressed against the back of the row in front of them. The matriarch of the Greengrass family was on the floor next to him, her daughters held close to her chest. 

“There’s an attack!” James whipped out his wand and deflected a spell headed their way. 

In less than a minute, the room had descended into a full blown battle, except no one seemed to know who was the enemy. The crowd was attempting to flee the room while security were attempting to push in. People were being trampled in the bottlenecks. 

James cast a shield charm and drew himself up. A group fought outward from the middle of the hall, surrounded by shield charms and a dark miasma of concealing fog. They threw spells out at the crowd of nobles, the guards, and Slytherin. 

A spell flew his way, shattering the seat in front of him. Neither of the Nott’s had been in it, but on the floor already. James didn’t know if they were faking injury to avoid further attacks, or if either of them were actually injured. He didn’t think Nott Sr. was the type to lay across his child to protect him.

James pressed forward to where he had last seen his son. Slytherin could handle himself. He wasn’t going to let his son be killed because he was too stupid not to be enamoured with the monarchy. 

Through the smoke and sparks, James spotted Harry, Crouch, and Regulus shooting spells at the attackers from behind a pillar. 

A spell was sent their way, chunks exploding off the pillar and sending shrapnel into the crowd.

James was in the midst of sending his own curse when a streak of purple shot past his face towards Avery. 

He didn’t expect the older man to have cast a shield charm around himself and the Greengrass family. The purple curse bounced off the shield and rebounded.

James fell to the floor, the air knocked out from his chest and his neck sprayed blood into the air. He grasped his throat, his sleeve quickly soaking up the blood. 

Harry shouted something. He knew it was Harry. Bloody kid better stay with Regulus and not get himself killed. He would rather Lily be a widow than her lose a son. 

His fingers were slippery with blood and his vision was going black. 

“Mister Potter, please refrain from dying.” The darkness was batted away for a moment as he locked gazes with Slytherin who was hunched over him.

James let out a groan that came out as a gurgle. 

##

“After he staunched the bleeding, he dropped a disillusionment on me until the battle was over and I was rushed here. I was unconscious for the most part.”

Amelia said nothing. She sat on the window sill and watched the street beneath. “Did you see any of the attackers?”

“The veil lifted enough that I spotted two. I recognized Caradoc Dearborn and the boy attacking Harry looked like Amos’ son. What about the rest? Were they captured?”

He watched Amelia’s reflection frown. “All dead, except one who escaped.”

James pushed himself up, his brow furrowed. “Morgana’s tits,  _ dead? _ Were the guards using the killing curse or something?”

She nodded.

Merlin. 

“ _ Why? _ Did Slytherin tell them to?”

“No,” she spat the word out like it was poison. “He supposedly was telling them to stop using the killing curse. They  _ supposedly _ ignored him. They’ve been sent to Azkaban until their trial.” 

“There were witnesses to him saying to stop, right?”

Amelia sighed and moved from the window sill to a chair at the food of James’ bed. “Yes. All of them are loyal to him. Your boy was amongst them.” 

James licked his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She buried her face in her hands. “One of the attackers was my brother, Edgar.” 

He stared at the sight of his defeated looking boss. She seemed like she was going to curl in on herself. “What.” 

Tears fell on the tiled floor. “I know my brother,” her voice was low growl. “He may be an antimonarchist, but he would never launch an attack that would  _ kill _ people.” Amelia slammed her fist on the foot of the bed. “Something foul is happening! They’ve killed my brother and by doing so they’ve destroyed my credibility.”

His chest was tight. He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.” 

“I am authorizing you to use any means necessary to get to the bottom of this. I am having an order of immunity drawn up for you.” She was digging her fingernails into her hairline, thin rivulets of blood bloomed from underneath. 

He bit the urge to reach over and pull her hands away from his face. “What kind of means?” James asked, his voice shook

“Polyjuice, the Unforgivables, nothing is off limits. You will be given a discretionary fund for whatever you need.”

##

Tom watched the throne room return to its grandiose state. The walls were repaired, the seats were removed, new ones would be added later, blood was siphoned off the floor. He seethed. His heart had been trying to burst free of his ribcage for hours. His plan had gone off perfectly. 

_ His _ plan. 

It could have been Nott, it was likely his idea, but Tom wouldn’t put anything past Avery. 

He left the room as the auror’s reentered downstairs. The DMLE would be investigating the attackers and it would be linked back to Witch Weekly and their editors. There was nothing he needed to do about  _ that. _

He left that palace entirely and apparated to Avery’s home. 

The wards protested as his magic pressed across the boundaries of the home before shattering. A flick of the wrist sent the gates careening through the sky, ready to crush a poor sheep wandering the lake district. The wind roared as a storm began to form in the distance. The eye of it moved with Tom. A flash of lightning struck a tree with his first step, thunder rolled with his second, rain poured with his fourth, and hail began with his fifth. 

By the time the door shattered under his glare several tornadoes were tearing across the landscape. Tom stood in the foyer, the building rattling beneath his anger. 

“Come down here Augustus,” he whispered, but everyone on the property could hear each syllable dripping with malice. No one was on the property except for Avery, he knew Tom would be coming. He would have to be a fool not to expect him.

Avery appeared at the top of the stairs, his clothes unchanged from the coronation. Dark stains of blood on his blue robes. “If anyone has a right to be mad, I think it would be myself,” he snapped. 

“Who’s idea was it? Yours or Nott’s?” The windows exploded as lightning struck at the threshold of home. 

Avery descended the stairs jauntily. “To attack the boy? Nott, of course,” Avery strolled past Tom with a nonchalance that would get lesser men killed. “Care for a cup of tea?” He stepped into a side room near a tea service. 

Tom said nothing, a flick of his wrist and his wand was in hand. 

“I’ll take that as a no. I only told Ulysses to go through with it if you went through with your attempts on our lives,” Avery smiled. “ _ You are incredibly predictable _ . I pull a string, you pull it back and harder. It’s fairly easy to ensure that the person you hurt with your reactions is yourself.” Avery had walked over to a side table and was preparing himself a cup of everlasting tea. 

“Nott dying was fine, but if any harm befalls me, your horcrux will be destroyed. That, I swear.” He dropped a cube of sugar into the cup. “We are  _ so  _ close now. You are the king of magical britain. What you say is law. I know what you have told your “inner inner circle,” and I don’t care if you want to go through with it. All I ask is that you do a few favours for me and Marcus when we ask. As per our agreement.” Avery took a long sip of his tea. 

Tom slashed his arm out, Avery flew across the room and smashed into the wall. “I AM TIRED OF YOUR CONTROL!” Tom roared and stomped across the room, his wand pointing at Avery’s chest. “I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin and the most powerful wizard in  _ generations _ . I refuse to be beholden to the likes of  _ you _ .”

Avery pushed away from the wall, blood staining the back of his hand as he coughed. “Remember that if you kill me, it’s not just your horcrux that is destroyed, but the entire house of cards will come crashing down. You will be revealed as a  _ Gaunt _ , Crouch will be arrested for the murder of his father, Snape for the death of Albus Dumbledore, Bellatrix for killing her father-in-law--”

Tom stopped breathing. How did he know?

“Oh yes. I have known that since it happened.  _ Nothing _ is secret from me. And let us not forget Harry’s crimes of reducing his friend to a member of the Janus Thickey ward. If  _ I _ go down, _ we all go down _ . There will be no more attacks, authorized by me, on your paramour. And there will be no further assassination attempts on me. 

“Now, do stop with the theatrics, you and I both know that you weren’t going to kill me.” Avery stood up and brushed the debris off himself. “Why don’t you go and comfort your poor little friend. I imagine he’s had a rough day, once for being attacked and once for his father almost dying.”

“Why attend if you knew we were going to try? Why use James Potter?”

“I assumed James Potter would be enough to ensure that you wouldn’t dare target me in fear of him getting injured. I know you promised the boy his father would be safe.” Avery laughed. “Now, I must insist you leave,  _ your majesty _ . We’ve both had a long day and I suddenly have a house I need to repair.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? What's this? A chapter? I'm alive?  
> Fucking plot twists of the century amirite. I currently have a bee flying up my ass and it's making me work on this fic and I AM NOT LETTING THAT BEE ESCAPE.  
> aka i have the rough of chapter 5 written and half of chapter 6 and i wanna get this shit outta here!  
> A million thanks to eri for betaing this chapter like the saint she is.

Voldemort was in the largest of Harry’s paintings that graced the apartment walls. Harry sat across from him with a glass of wine dangling from his fingertips. The fireplace roared despite the heat of the summer night, and he stared into the flames. 

He could see Voldemort pacing out of the corner of his eye. Harry took a drink of wine. The painting would talk when he was ready. He wasn’t going to press the issue; he knew better at this point. 

Tom had stormed off after the coronation, murder in his eyes when the aurors had finally allowed the witnesses to leave. Harry suspected he would be hearing about a brutal killing. 

Pain shot up his leg. He closed his eyes and grasped above his knee where the bludgeoning curse had hit him. It had been healed almost immediately by Crouch, and yet it still ached. He drained his wine glass. 

“Potter?” the painting said.

“Yes?”

“Are you… well?” It was stilted, almost like he had never enquired after another human being before. Probably hadn’t. 

Harry chuckled and poured himself a new glass. “I really must be looking morose for you to act like you care.” He raised his glass in a toast to the painting and then took a drink. “I’m fine. Is he still out?”

“Yes. You can see that yourself if you look out your bloody window.”

Harry ignored that. “Where is he?”

“Probably confronting Avery. I suspect he reacted,” the painting’s jaw clenched, “ _ emotionally _ to you being attacked.”

“He’s not the only one,” Harry replied. The occlumency he had been drilling into Harry’s head for months wasn’t just good for keeping out intruders but for keeping in his emotions. His shock at being an unwilling target today, the sadness about his family growing distant, his shame for what happened to Hermione. “You think it was Avery?”

“He may not have arranged it but he knew of it. Avery hears all.”

“How does this affect the apprenticeship?”

“You already sent your affirmation. Continue as usual and settle for both of you knowing that he tried to kill you. You won’t be able to play it to your advantage. He is remorseless.” 

“Is that why you were friends in Hogwarts?”

The painting sneered. “He was  _ not _ my friend. I do not have  _ friends, _ and you would do well to remember that.”

“No friends, but you do hang out with me a lot more than the palace. It’s almost like you enjoy having someone to talk to that’s not yourself.”

“The conversations my counterpart and I have are far superior to the ones that you and I have,” he sneered. 

“Pretty sure you’re full of shit. We both know you two argue like an old married couple.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it a bit of self-loathing or just self-flagellation?” Pushing out of his seat, Harry wandered towards his balcony, drained his wine glass and threw it over the edge to the street below. 

There was a shriek as it shattered near some wandering muggle. It made Harry smile, but not as much as seeing the light to Tom’s office turning on. “He’s back.”

The painting had already left. Rude.

Harry paused by his desk where parchment and a quill sat tempting him. He bit down the urge to send a letter to Avery congratulating him on the attempt on his life. He would do it in person. 

He made his way through the palace, and knocked at the door to Tom’s office. It opened silently. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment. Take a seat.” 

Harry moved in, ready to speak and potentially comfort Tom, but the sight of Tom’s forearm sliced open through the skin and muscle to the bone, stopped him in his tracks. No blood flowed from the wound, it seemed to be in a type of stasis. 

Harry sat across from him and stared at the tableau in silence. 

Tom’s left arm laid on the desk, palm up. Bile rose in the back of his throat with a better view and smell of it. The scent of wet copper tinged the air and sent Harry’s mind back to Hermione after she had fallen--

He shut that train of thought down, and focused on what Tom was doing. A thin line across the bone was the only evidence that it had been broken earlier in the day during the attack. Harry didn’t pay attention to that though; the ogham script etched into the bone was what held his gaze. 

His mouth was dry. Tom’s dedication to magic was truly something else, something he had carved into his very being. This wasn’t something new he was doing, but something he was  _ repairing. _ Just how much of his skeleton was marked?

“Does it hurt?”

“My nerves are numbed to a degree, but even if it wasn’t deadened, I have dealt with it before,” Tom replied, not taking his eyes off his work.

Harry could only imagine how much it hurt right. Even if it was numbed. Maybe Tom could teach him to shake off any pain he felt. “That’s how you were able to read my notes.”

Tom nodded. “Minus having to decipher your code, but yes. I have been able to read ogham for decades.”

“And what,” Harry nodded his head to the etched bone, “does that do?”

“Reinforcement. It’s why my arm was merely broken instead of missing,” Tom answered as he released the spell holding his muscle and skin apart. The wound tightened, and he ran the tip of his wand down the incision, sealing it. Tom got up and made his way to the couch. He patted the seat next to him. 

Harry moved over and leaned against him. Enjoying his warmth and the relaxing scent of cardamom. “Are you okay?”

Tom began to nod and stopped. “No.”

Resting his head on Tom’s shoulder, Harry intertwined his fingers with Tom’s. Tom could be quiet, but this was disturbingly so. “Tell me.”

“You almost died.”

“But I didn’t. Regulus and Barty had my back.”

“The boy who attacked you wasn’t part of our team,” Tom said without emotion. Harry could tell he was shielding his emotions. He truly was upset.

Harry lifted his head up. “What?”

“We only had six. That was a seventh, and his goal was to attack you and no one else. Did you not see that?”

“I thought it odd, but I also thought it might have been just to make sure the threat was genuine,” Harry squeezed Tom’s hand. “I was never afraid because you were there.” 

“A nice sentiment, but foolhardy.” 

They sat in the silence. Harry could feel the fear of loss weighing on Tom. Subject change in order. “Thank you for saving my dad.” 

Tom twirled one of Harry’s ringlets around his finger. “Do you know why your father was sitting with the Sacred 27?”

Harry shook his head. “No, if I ever see him again, I’ll ask.” He should visit his father, James had nearly died after all. “But, hey, at least Ulysses Nott is dead. We should drink to that.”

Tom pointedly sniffed Harry’s breath. “Smells like you’ve already been in the wine cellar.”

Harry pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. “I needed some wine to comfort me while I waited for you. I can’t help that I want to crawl inside a bottle when I don’t have you  _ inside _ me.” Harry grinned and straddled Tom’s lap. “Let’s celebrate both of us being alive.” He undid the top button of Tom’s robes. 

There was a knock on the door. 

Harry sighed and slid off Tom’s lap into a slouching heap of repressed drunken desire. 

Tom mouthed ‘sorry’ before answering the door. “Come in, Severus.”

“Fucking cockblock,” Harry muttered.

The door opened, and Snape entered with a flourish. Crouch followed behind like he was Snape’s smirking shadow. “Your majesty.” They both bowed. 

Tom flicked his hand, the door closing behind them. “Barty, I must commend you on your quick action today.” He turned his head to Snape. “Severus, what the hell happened?” 

Snape’s complexion grew sallow. “Everything went off without an issue. I did as you ordered and launched the attack early and killed Ulysses Nott as requested. I…” his eyes darted to Harry and then back to Tom, “I do not know where the other attacker came from. He was not one I selected. He attacked soon after we started our assault.” 

Tom spun one of Harry’s curls around his fingers. “Any chance you know who it was?”

“I do,” Harry said, cutting Snape off. “Cedric Diggory. He was Hufflepuff’s seeker. Lots of girls had crushes on him. Last I heard he was engaged to Cho Chang.” 

“Interesting. Was he likely to be a radical in any way?” Tom almost sounded disinterested, his focus entirely on Harry’s hair.

Harry shook his head. “He was like a sack of flour. What are you thinking?”

“Contemplating if we should leave evidence of Witch Weekly influencing him or if we need to develop a new storyline for him. It would be very… slapdash to do the former. Seems unwise.” 

Harry frowned. “You’re right. I knew Cedric. He was a good person, and he would stand up against injustice, but he would not commit a terrorist attack where people could get hurt. This is completely out of character for him. So, logically, since he was being imperiused like the rest of the attackers, the public will be able to acknowledge that. We can find someone to take the fall for it, hell, we could even pin it on Nott. Given that they used Cedric Diggory, they have no qualms with how illogical their choice of assassin was, nor did they expect him to survive.”

Crouch and Snape shared a quiet look. 

“Severus, Barty, good job today. We will develop an action plan to deal with this shortly. I will summon you if you are required,” Tom dismissed them. 

Snape bowed and left the room, his gaze resting on Harry as he closed the doors. Crouch smiled and waved.

Harry rubbed his leg. “I threw Nott out there at random, but it probably was him.” He chuckled half-heartedly. 

Tom was chewing his bottom lip. “Nott was the one who suggested the attack happen during the coronation. It should have been clear to me that he was going to take advantage of the chaos during it to try to have you killed.”

“At least he didn’t see you turning it around on him and doing the same to him.”

“Apparently, he and I shared a thought on the same wavelength for once.” Tom summoned a wine bottle from a nearby cabinet and opened it.“I should have suspected that he had something up his sleeve, he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and rarely, if ever, did he suggest a plan outside of torturing something. Him being creative, for once, should have been the red flag that he was up to something since he had bothered to rub his two brain cells together.” He conjured a pair of glasses and poured them a healthy amount of wine. “This was my fault.”

Harry touched Tom’s cheek and smiled. “No, it’s not. We both know what I signed up for when I got into bed with you, literally and figuratively. We’ll just be more cautious in the future.” He took the glass from Tom’s hand and drained it. “Now, let’s figure out how to paint this Cedric situation in a way that benefits us.”

##

Potter snored softly on his counterpart’s chest. Tom had drifted off an hour after the boy had, blowing out the candles and setting the reports on the table next to the bed. The royal guard had attempted to persuade Tom into relocating to a safer location until all threats could be neutralized. They had been told no, that he wouldn't react in fear and would stand strong in the face of adversity with this as his first true hurdle of being king. 

Voldemort had tried not to laugh when that had been said. They had no enemies among the common people, no enemies that would be able to attack them through such mediocre means as a physical strike. No, their only enemy was the knowledge living in other people's minds. 

Of the few, who would use that knowledge for their own gain, Nott was dead, which only left Avery and Flint. 

Flint wouldn't be an issue—he never had been anything more than a silent partner in their venture of domination. Avery, though, he wanted control, to puppet and guide his counterpart. 

How he loathed the man. The patience, the way he could read people, confidence that all his schemes would be executed flawlessly. In a way, he was jealous. No, not "in a way", he was jealous. He would curse his Gaunt lineage for their tendency to be unbalanced and quick to anger, but without said lineage he would not be. 

Voldemort left the painting hanging above the bed and retreated to his own. It was hidden away behind a secret panel in his counterparts study, a place no one but his counterpart knew about, and thus, they were safe in this semi public place. 

He moved into the depths of the painting. Anyone looking at it would have seen him become smaller and smaller until he opened a door in the back and vanished. But no one was watching, and he was able to safely retreat to the wooden room where he had taught Potter how to be a passable occlumens. 

In the room's natural state, there were icons that represented each piece of himself, the ones he had cut off and hidden away for safety. The one Potter had encountered during his first visit, had been himself, a visceral painting. 

The locket, ring, diadem, and goblet rested on plinths. The one holding the diary sat empty. They had spoken of making one to replace it at some point, but it hadn't come up recently. 

Something that had disturbed him after Potter’s first visit was that he had left something behind. Initially, it was the first letter Potter had sent his counterpart, but later, after his birthday it had changed to something else. The small gift box Tom had received from Harry. As far as he was aware, his counterpart had never opened it, and it seemed to represent, at least to Voldemort, Tom’s obsession with Potter’s potential. 

It also represented that the boy had carved a piece of himself into his soul early on. Had made him experience something he had never felt before. 

He turned away from the small icon in the corner which represented the boy. Dumbledore was likely smirking from his grave. 

The boy was a weakness.

Weakness...

Picking up the goblet, he turned it over in his hands. They had entrusted it to Avery, and it had been safe for the better part of a century. Then last decade he had been called back to begin the plan, and when he had hesitated, had thought he may wait a bit longer, Nott had told him that he and Flint had stolen the goblet from Avery, and the plan was to start immediately. 

Sumatra had shaken under his rage. 

He slid into Potter’s memory of the day he had gone to Avery’s home. He had ached to be present, to slip into the paintings and search it for anything, but the bastard had no paintings in his home. If he did they were muggle in nature. 

Shaking his head, Voldemort walked with Potter through the gates of Avery’s home and to the rose garden. The scent of the flowers were as strong as life. Everything was strong, such as his urge to drag the old man to one of the distant lakes and drown him. 

Potter sat down across from Avery and they began their discussion, well, less of a discussion and more of a posturing of superiority by Augustus.

Voldemort paid it no mind. Nothing of importance was said that day. What was important was the golden cup that Avery drank from. The embossed badger staring the boy in the face and Potter had been completely oblivious to it. He had seemingly been oblivious to the house elf watching from behind a bush as well. 

Avery offered the boy an apprenticeship, but this also must have been a test to see if Harry knew about the cup, to judge the depth of Harry’s knowledge about his counterpart. 

Voldemort circled Avery, looking at the cup from all sides and relishing in the knowledge that it was seemingly undamaged.

The memory faded away as he stepped back. He had been visiting the memory every day just to stare at the other part of his soul. 

With the knowledge that Avery still retained the cup, that he had lied about Flint and Nott stealing it, but unable to tell his counterpart, he pressed the issue of killing Nott and Avery. That their threats were bluffs and he needed to call them on it.

He may have taken advantage of Tom’s inebriated state after he had spent an evening with Potter, sampling various wines from the cellar.

Returning to his painting, Voldemort began to turn the problem of letting his counterpart know about the goblet without smearing Potter’s name over. He was loath to admit it, but Potter had become integral to his plans. Not that he cared whether the brat lived or died, only that he remained useful to him. 

##

Harry paid the owl and took his copy of the Prophet. Tom sat across the table from him, a cup of coffee in hand and a report in the other.

“What’s the Prophet say?” Tom asked. 

“Title is ‘Coronation in Chaos.’Crocker really loves his alliteration, I, personally, despise it.” Harry moved his finger down the page as he absorbed the information “They’re reporting that the Shafiq family was wiped out, the Prewett line is now in question given Muriel’s death, the Macmillan patriarch has been rendered incapcitated and will be kept at their ancestral home until he passes. I’m guessing he got hit with some sort of wasting curse. None of the attackers are named, since it’s still being investigated, and the Prophet urges anyone with information to come forward.”

Tom hummed and tried to take a drink from his report while he read his coffee. He stared blankly at them for a moment before setting both down. “The DMLE have all the evidence they need to move on Witch Weekly.” 

He cocked his head to the side. “You think they will move on them today?”

“I would have assumed they were doing it right now, but I have received reports that Amelia Bones is suppressing the raid until they have triple checked the evidence.”

“The evidence is immaculate,” Harry snorted. “Why is she even involved? It’s a conflict of interest given that her brother was one of the attackers, is it not?”

Tom cocked his head to the side and gave him a small, sad smile. “Harry…”

Harry bit his bottom lip to hide his own small smile. “Sorry, sometimes I forget how corrupt our government is.” 

“It’s your idealism,” Tom’s voice made it clear that he considered this a major failing. “We’ll make a complete cynic of you yet.” 

Touching his hand to his chest, Harry adopted the guise of one of the upper class snobby women he had seen in some television period pieces. “I’m honoured that you think so, but I think being idealistic makes you aim for making the world a better place. Something we both want to do. Are you sure you are not an idealist at heart?” He winked at Tom.

“Cut me in half and you will find a cynical nihilist all the way through,” Tom answered and held a butter knife out to Harry, handle first.

“I’d rather not and, frankly, I don’t believe you,” Harry said, as he stood up and approached Tom before settling on his lap.

Tom’s lips found the crook of Harry’s neck. “Mmmm, Harry as much as I appreciate your eagerness, I do have to meet with the Wizengamot in fifteen minutes.”

Wrapping his arms around Tom’s neck, Harry leaned in and whispered into his ear. “Based on your performance last week, we all know you only need thirty seconds.” 

Tom sighed and let his head fall against Harry’s chest. “You’re not going to let me forget that?”

“Never, you’re my little quickshot.”

His Majesty, Thomas Slytherin the First groaned into Harry’s sternum. “You can’t blame me, you’re just really good with your mouth.”

“That’s no defence.” Harry kissed the top of Tom’s head. “Anyways, I wasn’t aiming for a quick hump and dump... I just wanted to hold you.”

Tom made eye contact with him and raised a brow. “Oh?” Tom’s arms encircled Harry’s waist and pulled him close. 

“There was a bit of time there where I was just going through the motions after Hermione’s… accident, while I was still at school and the only times I have felt like a person is when I’m with you.”

Tom had grown completely still. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, based on Harry’s knowledge of both Tom and his painted-self, he knew Tom was emotionally constipated. He may be a smooth talker, but his interpersonal skills could use some work. Especially with comforting people. 

“Har—” Tom started and then stopped. He buried his head back down into Harry’s chest, and his words came out in a rapid fire. “You make me feel almost human, and I don’t know if that’s good. There’s something about you that makes me want to be a better person and initially I hated that. I thought I was perfect, that the pieces of myself that I cut off over the years weren’t needed, that not caring and being ruthless was the only way to be… and then one day I just realized how important you are to me. How much I—” he took a deep breath, “how much I love you.”

Lifting Tom’s chin with his hand, Harry leaned down and kissed him. Tom had said once before that he loved him, but Harry hadn’t been certain that Tom had intended for him to hear that confession either. This was the first time Tom had said the words ‘I love you,’ he had never been that explicit before. And Harry hadn’t either. 

He broke the kiss and ran his fingers through Tom’s hair. “I love you too.”

There was a clatter of crashing dishes and utensils as Tom pushed Harry onto the table. “I guess I’m going to be late to that meeting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for sticking by me and reading this fic. It will be done! <3 <3


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